Kyuuden Otome
by abstract illusioniste
Summary: Dazzled by the seemingly glamorous Imperial court, Sakura enters the palace naive and ignorant of reality. Little did she know that a dangerous game of power and seduction was in the making, eventually forcing her to play... CanonPairings
1. Identity

kyuuden otome

* * *

Be deaf._ (__Act like you didn't hear__)_

Be blind._ (__Act like you didn't see__)_

Be ignorant._ (__Act like you don't know__)_

Follow all these rules- _(To survive-)_

_(-have no feeling. No thought. No words.) _

—and we'll give you life.

* * *

That was what I learned. That was what all the other girls learned when they first entered the Palace at age eight.

_("We exist only to serve the Imperial family," Lady Ichijo, a chief court lady, constantly reminded us.)_

They are our masters. Our puppeteers.

_(-and we are the marionettes.)_

Every move. Every breath. Every heartbeat.

Controlled.

Our lives, dedicated solely to them.

_("The only way how to be free—to cut off the strings—is to die.")_

* * *

I: Identity

* * *

The requirements for a perfect lady-to-be: well-educated, preferably beautiful, well-bred, and born into a family with a decent amount of wealth and status.

By now, you must assume that I was the much-adored daughter of a well-to-do family who honorably left the comfort of family at age eight like the other girls to serve our rulers.

Wrong.

I came into the palace later than the other girls, at age eleven. I did not fit the traditional requirements. The black sheep among the flock of well-groomed white ones, if you will.

I was the daughter of an _eta _family_, _ranking at the lowest of society, and orphaned at age six. I did not receive an education, or at least, one that was deemed proper.

I was unusually lucky. It was a miracle that I managed to survive a year without my parents. Again and again, fate allowed loopholes and narrow escapes from every sticky situation I encountered during my troubled childhood.

Perhaps it was that luck that changed everything, or perhaps it was destiny all along. My whole life was flipped upside-down in a way I could have never imagined.

-k-

When I was seven years old, an aging pharmacist decided to take me in. He had taken pity on me after he saw me wandering aimlessly all alone, bone-thin and dressed in tatters. But that didn't last long either—he passed away about eight months after.

As a young girl, I had tiny, agile fingers—something an old man at eighty-six years of age such as he didn't have. His fingers became too gnarled with rheumatism to move, let alone lifting up a blade to chop up ginseng for an herbal brew. The medical field required absolute precision, and frankly, precision needed fast, skillful fingers.

However, his intelligence did not fade with age. Born into a considerably wealthy family, he received an education in Japanese kanji and Chinese literature along with most noblemen. Even with his age, he could recite entire poems written by famous Chinese poets from memory. One day, as he marveled at how I made an herbal shiitake mushroom brew perfectly at the first try, he remarked that I should have been born a male, or at least, born into a noble family.

"You could be learning right now, little girl," he often lamented. "What a waste of brains."

So in between memorizing the names of each herb used for each medicinal brew, he decided to teach me how to read and write Japanese kanji.

This became another piece of evidence that I was destined to be the black sheep from the very start. You see, Japanese kanji was traditionally taught to noblemen. Women of nobility, on the other hand, were expected to learn Japanese hiragana, poetry, and the art of the tea ceremony, so you can imagine the appalled looks on the court ladies' faces when they eventually found out about my unorthodox education. Horrified, they demanded I would be "properly" re-educated with lessons taken straight out of my sleeping time. So while the other girls wearily lay down on their futons after a long hard day of work, I was trying not to yawn while I wetted my loathed brush with the freshly grinded inkstone to practice calligraphy.

As I learned more and more, I began to have a growing interest in the medical field, although the only women at the time that was permitted to become physicians were in the _Kyoto gosho,_ holding a prized and highly coveted position in the prestigious medical staff of the Imperial family. One had to be exceptionally talented to be accepted as the Emperor's medic. You see, the descendants of the great sun goddess Amaterasu could only have the best.

Undoubtedly, the possibilities of a girl like me becoming a doctor were nearly zero. But I pored over the pharmacist's medical books anyway, which I secretly borrowed. And before I knew it, I began jotting down careful notes on whatever kind of parchment I could find.

I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to save lives when mine was at stake constantly.

How ironic.

_(-If I save lives, will Kami-sama spare mine?-)_

-y-

The silk weaver Akamatsu-sama and his wife lived in a tiny village in rural Japan, surrounded by the mountains and forests of Kiso Valley. They had once lived in Kozushima, a village in Edo, but they moved when silkworm farming there was unsuccessful for them. To this day, I consider them as my true—and last—family.

I went from village to village for a year after the pharmacist passed away, taking whatever jobs I could get. By the time I came upon the small village near Kiso Valley, Death was on my heels. It was only plain luck that when I finally passed out from all the fatigue and hunger, I collapsed right on the kind silk weaver's doorstep, and not at the door of an inhospitable stranger.

Three days later, I woke up, a soft blanket wrapped around my pitifully thin body, and surrounded by faces of strangers. Their faces held sincere kindness, something that was completely foreign to me ever since my pharmacist employer departed the world. One of them was Akamatsu-sama, who told me that he had found me at his door, sprawled onto the cold ground and undoubtedly unconscious.

And that led to where this story begins.

It was my own choice to work for them. They had protested, but I insisted—by then, I had grown accustomed to working for a living, and I didn't mind earning my place in their home. They didn't owe me anything, and I wanted to repay their kindness with whatever work they could give me.

The work, I found, was much more pleasant than my previous jobs. Before, I usually worked as a maid in return for food and shelter, and rarely, as a farm hand, but the jobs didn't last long. The farmers thought of me as too weak to actually help them with manual labor. One vulgarly remarked that I should put my body to "proper" use by becoming a prostitute.

_("If their girls looked anything like her, they'd be the busiest house in town!")_

Most village girls at that time were not very beautiful, except perhaps a select few. They shared the same uncombed and scraggly ebony hair; dark, small watery eyes; sunburns from working out in the fields for too long; thin chapped lips that had lost their colour from extreme dryness; and man-like figures with straight, broad hips and thighs. On the other hand, I had an ivory complexion, hair with the delicate pink tint of budded spring sakura blossoms, naturally red lips that was garish in comparison to my pale skin, and a petite, willowy figure—more unusual than beautiful, they said. And my eyes, larger in comparison than the eyes of other girls' and surrounded by long lashes, were the colour of pine boughs illuminated by silver moonlight.

_("Such beauty doesn't come around these days," a farmer's wife had commented scathingly, eyeing me with a mix of envy and scorn. "She must be a demon. A kitsune, perhaps. They're especially known for having lips always red from drinking blood—and look how red her lips are! My goodness, the legends do not lie at all!")_

Some geisha at the various hanamachi I have been through teased me about my appearance—they often said that I should become one of them and had said that I didn't need any of their makeup because my skin was pale enough and my lips were naturally red. They commented about how my figure was perfect to be robed in one of the extravagant kimono that they bought (with of course, the expenses their _danna _had provided for them), and what a pity that I have never worn anything but clothes woven from scratchy hemp.

Being "different" from other girls became a burden. Perhaps it was jealousy from many of the village wives and their daughters. Because of being different, I was turned away by employers and shunned by many. Soon, I was as good as exiled from a few villages, due to the circulating rumours of my being an evil kitsune, which were fox demons in myths that were believed to consume human hearts to live, and renowned for taking the form of a beautiful woman.

Now, when I look back upon it, I suppose it was a little flattering, but ultimately, a hindrance to survival at that time. Sometimes, I wonder where I would be today if I had a strong build and was less delicate-looking.

Luckily, a silk weaver's assistant didn't require a strong stature. All I needed was a head for memorizing all the right kinds of herbs and plants for certain colours for dye—something that I fortunately happened to have.

I became almost like a daughter in the household. I grew to love Akamatsu-sama and Tatsumi-san, his wife over the years. They were the family I forgot I had.

Times of instability and vulnerability were replaced with a golden childhood, filled with family, friends, and laughter. Because of Akamatsu's moderate success in business, we were better off than others. More people led lives in much more simplicity and poverty, so I did not complain.

I thought that day was going to be the same as any other day. I ate the three same simple meals of hazy miso soup and rice. Then I was off to tend to the silkworms and scavenging herbs for dye with Tatsumi-san, and if I had time after my chores, playing with the village children my age at the creek until the sun set.

But I was wrong.

I knew my assumption was wrong the moment I opened my eyes, for the unfamiliar sound I woke up to was shouting in our usually quiet village.

The cries that echoed across the valley were getting louder and louder. In the beginning, they were so soft that they might have just been whispers of a tiny breeze that made the viridian leaves on the trees rustle. But now, it sounded clearer than ever.

The louder voices sounded like heated arguing, and others sounded curt and commanding, like how an overseer would address the laborers at a plantation.

_Preparation sounded exactly like that,_ I thought while I folded the cotton blankets neatly on the futon I once lay.

I staggered over to the cracked mirror that was against the wall and next to the window, and began combing my hair with a comb that I had for so long that I couldn't remember when or where I first acquired it. The comb was a pretty little thing, more of a trinket than useful for untangling my thick hair. But more than a trinket, it was a talisman to me — a good luck charm — which I never let out of my sight. I tucked it securely into the folds of my yukata whenever I left my room.

Tatsumi's mother, who was an old woman with stringy grey hair, browned skin, and a mouth full of crooked teeth, always complained about my obsession with the comb. It amazed me how such a grouchy woman could give birth to such a cheerful and bright person like Tatsumi. To this day, I see her in my memories with that all-too-familiar deep scowl on her face, which of course, was directed towards me.

"She's so vain," she always grumbled whenever she saw me at the cracked mirror combing my hair. "She'll never get a husband if she's at the mirror all day."

"But she's pretty," Tatsumi protested. "She'll get a husband in no time."

"What a man needs in a woman are strong hips to bear children," the old woman replied simply, shooting me another look. "He won't care about her pretty little hair if she's weak and sickly." And that referred to my skin, which was translucently and delicately white, while other village children's skins were tan and sturdy-looking.

After putting on a plain white cotton yukata and tucking the comb into place, I headed towards the door that led to the silkworm tending area, which was first on my mental schedule.

"Oh, you're up early today, Sakura-chan," Tatsumi greeted me in an indulgent voice, her dark eyes crinkling prettily at the corners as she smiled. "You're not supposed to be up until another hour! Here, feed those ones first." She pushed a bowl of mulberry leaves in my hands.

_I could've slept for another hour, _I silently fumed, but plastered on a falsely bright smile. I never took well to being deprived of sleep.

"I woke up because of the commotion outside," I explained as I scattered the mulberry leaves among the hundreds of wriggling silkworms that filled the large oblong cages. "What is going on, Tatsumi-san?"

"Palanquins from the Imperial palace arrived here today," Tatsumi answered nonchalantly, in such a way as if nobles from the _Kyoto gosho_ visited our humble little village every other day. "They're just passing through our village from their trip to Edo. Fetching silk, I expect, since there's a shortage in Kyoto. Perhaps some of those fancy palace ladies came to steal a bit of our silkworms."

There _were_ an unusually large number of silkworms in Kiso Valley this year.

"But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure if those palace ladies would want our silkworms after looking at them." Tatsumi added with a laugh.

This time, my smile was genuine. "They aren't very pleasing to the eye," I agreed. But over the years, I learned to see the beauty in homely things. I was still astounded at how beautiful and expensive material could be produced by such ugly-looking creatures.

Tatsumi laughed again. "There is a gathering very shortly at the village square to honor those court ladies," she told me, sprinkling the rest of the mulberry leaves in her bowl. "It's mandatory. But it's not like Hideaki-sama will notice, anyway."

Hideaki-sama was our village head. He was wise and a good leader, but he often misplaced his spectacles and without them, he could scarcely see. It was said that his eyesight was so terrible that he was incapable of discerning a cloud from his own cotton-white hair.

Nonetheless, I was intrigued. The most distinguished person I ever laid eyes on was a rich merchant from Nagoya, coming to make a trade offer in exchange for Akamatsu-sama's bolts of silk. But I had a feeling that the ones cohabiting with Amaterasu's descendants would make the merchant seem like a peasant. The most beautiful and cleverest ones were rumored to become concubines to the highest-ranking noblemen. I was curious to see if the palace ladies were as beautiful or as graceful as the stories often said.

Little did I know that I, an orphan girl raised by peasants, would later on become one of them.

-u-

Needless to say, I was excited. But I wasn't the only one.

"What do you suppose they look like?" A young woman named Mitsu whispered to her friend. Her shaggy dark hair tickled the rosy pink cheeks of her four month-old son she had strapped onto her back.

"They are supposed to be beautiful," her friend, whose name was Aemi, murmured back. "With the whitest skin."

"Like little Sakura, you mean?" Mitsu asked, pointing at me. "She's as white as they come!" Ever since she had gotten married at age fifteen and had her first child, she started treating me patronizingly despite the fact that she was only four years older than me. I suppose she thought herself somewhat superior now that she entered a new stage of womanhood, while in her eyes, I remained a child. She seemed to have forgotten that just a year ago, she enjoyed playing at the creek as much as I did, her hands clutching the hems of her robe to her knees as she delightedly dipped her bare feet into the shallow waters.

"Of course not," another girl named Chihori scoffed. "They're nothing like us villagers. Especially not one who has unearthly-coloured hair and eyes." Her last scorning comment was clearly directed towards me, but I didn't say anything back. Her narrowed watery eyes were set on me disdainfully. Chihori was a year older than me. Despite my being nice to her, she seemed to hate me for no reason at all. From the moment she had set eyes on me, she tried to exclude me from the others, but luckily, her attempts hadn't worked.

"Chihori-chan, you're just jealous," Mitsu chided.

Chihori's tawny face reddened in fury and embarrassment. "I'm not jealous! Why would I be jealous of an underdeveloped, vain-"

Drowning out Chihori's voice completely (which required years of practice), I looked around. Seeing the noticeable changes in my surroundings, I now knew the reason for the commotion in the morning. It wasn't hard for one to imagine Hideaki-sama, whose voice was surprisingly loud for a person who had such a frail-looking body, shouting orders at the villagers, who argued under the pressure of the important visit. Someone had laid out the village inn's best tatami mats on the dirt ground to conceal its dustiness. Another had trimmed the unruly bushes until they were evenly rounded. The dirty stone paving was cleanly washed off and shone with the noon sun.

In the distance, elaborate palanquins were making its way to the village square, where we villagers anxiously awaited them.

"I heard they were staying at the village inn," I heard a man behind me whispering to his wife. "But it wasn't _extravagant_ enough for them. They say that one of them sent back a grilled trout five times because she claimed it was undercooked." He snorted. "Spoiled palace wenches."

"But this is Jirouemon we're talking about," the wife said, sounding surprised. Jirouemon, the brother of my friend Maki, was the inn's favored cook, whose skills were legendary throughout the village. He often sneaked a few pastries he had made that were leftover to Maki, who shared with me. My mouth watered as I thought about the lingering sweetness of his famous seasonal _nonoutage_ pastries, with its silky smooth fillings of red bean paste.

The village inn possibly couldn't compare with the luxurious Kyoto gosho_,_ but it didn't sound all that bad either, judging from the stories Jirouemon told me about the finely furnished six-tatami mat rooms with the "gleaming cherrywood floors" and the well-dressed guests in them. It was just off the main road leading into Kiso Valley, and the nicest-looking building for miles, a popular choice for many travelling merchants with money.

The man sniffed haughtily in response. "I suppose us _country bumpkins_ aren't up to their fancy standards."

"Sakura," Maki whispered a greeting as she slid into position next to me. Her dark hair, which was usually unruly, was neatly tied back with a ribbon of red crepe and she wore the pale green yukata I had sewn for her, the one I gave to her for her birthday. She told me that she was saving it for special occasions, and this was certainly one of them.

"They're coming," she squeaked, her face shining with excitement. She craned her neck over the heads of the adults in front of us, but they were much taller than both of us. To get a better view, Maki and I pushed our way to the front.

Banners fluttered in the breeze at the posts of the elaborate palanquins. With the improved view, I could now see that the Imperial banners were emblazoned with emblems. A while ago, the images were soft and fuzzy from the distance. But as they came closer, the scarlet, ivory, and gold became the Imperial family crest: the _uchiwa _against a golden chrysanthemum. I didn't know at first, but as I learned later on, the red-and-white fan was the emblem of the Uchiha clan, which was the clan of the Imperial family. The chrysanthemum flower symbolized the Emperor's Takamikura throne at the Kyoto gosho—the symbol of His Majesty's power.

As the palanquins drew nearer and nearer, the adults pushed their children down in a bow that they deemed were adequate enough. Maki's mother shoved us down to the ground without warning. Our faces were nearly brushing the dirt.

"Get down!"Hideaki-sama hissed. "Quickly!"

I heard the rustle of cotton and hemp as all of the villagers, one by one, descended to the ground.

-u-

I could not see anything with my eyes facing the ground, but I did hear the dull thud of the palanquins set upon the dusty road by the bearers. Next, I heard the sound of the palanquin screens sliding open delicately, and following that were the light, soft footsteps onto the tatami mats that were laid out in front. A dizzying sweet fragrance wafted into the air.

"You have honored us with your presences, Great Ladies of the Court," I then heard Hideaki-sama say in an uncharacteristically humble tone after a long silence. His voice was muffled from crouching in a bow.

There was no reply. I found that rather strange. Did they not have voices?

And forgetting who and where I was, I broke my gaze from the earth and looked up.

A few feet away from me, I first saw the oval-shaped _zori, _and in them, small, narrow feet encased in white _tabi._ I counted four pairs of feet; one in front, three behind.

I immediately took note that the paulwonia wood zori were lacquered to a gleaming finish, and that the linen socks were an impossibly brilliant, stainless white. At most, we villagers wore _waraji,_ sandals constructed from straw rope. However, they were so uncomfortable and itchy that children often just ran around barefoot. During the winter, when _waraji_ would be no use to us, we resorted to sharing each other's zori when needed. As for _tabi,_ they were a luxury none of us could afford during the summer.

But it was really the kimono at the front that was the pièce de résistance that proved that they were entirely different from us - separate entities so far from our reach, we could only hear of them, or in our lucky case, look upon only once or twice. The grass design was simple enough, but it was made of pure summer-weight silk in sky blue and the color coordination was spectacular. The shoulders and collar were stained with a light indigo, which then blended into the pale yellow of the sleeves and bodice. That lovely golden hue became the rays of sunlight that shone onto the patches of viridian grass growing at the hemline.

The three kimono behind were also constructed in pure silk, but they were noticeably plainer in comparison to the first. The ones that stood at the side of the court lady in front wore identical crimson kimono, while the one directly behind wore one in a turquoise hue. They bore no designs.

Later on, I found out that the kimono itself reflected the wearer's position at court. Only the chief court ladies, the ones of the highest ranks and with the most experience, were allowed to wear finer kimono in various colours and designs according to its season. Meanwhile, with the exception of special events, ceremonies, and such, the lower ranked maids in training wore plainer unseasonal robes in the same colour until they were elevated to the next rank. Each colour signified a different rank. Of course, I didn't know enough to infer that the two in the crimson kimono were junior maids, the ones that had passed the qualification exams, and therefore, the ones to become the next generation of court ladies. The turquoise kimono, however, indicated that the one wearing it was only an apprentice, one who was to sit a qualification exam to become a junior maid.

There was really only one true court lady among them – the one at the front wearing the kimono in the grass design. And like their ranks at court, the kimono in the back seemed to dull and fade away in the shadow of the first kimono, which was clearly superior in its beauty, its craftsmanship, and in its worth.

As for the obi, all four wore identical ones that bore wide curved stripes in a heavier silk that ran horizontal in the symbolic colours of red and white — the colours of the Uchiha fan. I had never seen one before then, much less one that was made so beautifully. You see, the lower class used a much narrower and shorter piece of fabric to tie our clothes into place like a sash. On the other hand, most obi were wider than a woman's shoulders, and extended well past the height of the woman that is wearing it.

I should have stopped there, but my curiosity had grown so much during that small space of time. It couldn't be satisfied by the sight of the kimono alone. My eyes seemed to take a will of their own. I couldn't control them wandering further up. When my gaze finally reached her face, I suddenly realized why there was no spoken reply. Her face was out of sight as she inclined her head into a bow, which I accurately guessed, was their way of answering. Later on when I entered the Palace as a child maid along with other young girls, the court ladies wasted no time in notifying us that less was more when it came to spoken words. Court ladies considered quietness as a form of refinement. When she lifted her head up, I had forgotten to quickly avert my gaze back onto the floor. My eyes were frozen, fixated on beauty that was foreign to me until then.

Aemi was right. She was beautiful, with even whiter skin than mine. Of course, she had carefully painted her visage with rice powder to hide her natural complexion, but I didn't know that then. Her oval-shaped face was a rich, radiant white, the colour one would see on the brightest full moon. Her ruby-red lips were curved upwards in a polite, dignified smile. Beneath her delicately drawn arched eyebrows were two dark glowing eyes lined with ebony.

The younger girls behind her also wore similar makeup, but none of them carried themselves with the poise and gracefulness that seemed to effortlessly radiate from the older woman. The junior maids' stances were awkward, their smiles were forced, and one could sense how overwhelmed and at unease they were just by seeing their eyes, which were as big and round as coins. The young apprentice maid, who seemed to be around my age, didn't even bother to smile at all.

Like their kimono, their hairstyles varied and exhibited their rank. The apprentice maid's hair was the shortest and simplest of them all, her dark hair set very high and boxy at the front and bound back in an old-fashioned _kepatsu_ style, with a red ribbon. The junior maids wore their longer hair a little more elegantly, in a central _mage_ bun set into place with a hemisphere-shaped comb. That comb turned out to be more significant than just a hair ornament, as I later learned. It was presented to all the apprentice maids that passed the qualification exams to signify that as newly elevated junior maids, they officially belonged to the Imperial family.

In a blink of a second, the court lady's eyes cut down to my transfixed ones. I could feel myself growing red with embarrassment and without thinking, I looked back at the rest of the villagers, only to realize that I was the only one who was staring in the most shameless way. Guiltily, I hastily rearranged my limbs back into a low bow.

A few seconds passed in silence. I wondered if she had actually seen me. Hope began to bubble inside of me. _Maybe she hadn't seen me,_ I thought hopefully. _She was looking at a tree behind me. Or a bird flying in the sky-_ While sustaining my position, I peeked again. With a jolt of horror, I realized that a gleaming pair of zori was moving towards me. I closed my eyes tightly, trying not to concentrate on the light brushing sounds of the zori caressing the dirt that lay beneath it. The sweet scent grew stronger.

Suddenly, I felt cool, dry fingers gently push my chin up. My eyes shot open to see the court lady's beautiful face bearing a slightly amused expression. My heart sank. Obviously, she had seen me gaping at her unabashedly. I'm sure my face had burned into a colour that was fierier than the junior maids' crimson kimono.

I quickly lowered my gaze and focused on her lovely kimono. Now, I could fully appreciate the intricate detailing of her magnificent costume. In splendid needlework in various shades of green threads, I could see every individual strand of the grass on the hemline. It looked so rich and real-looking that I fought back the impulse to reach out and feel the embroidery.

"Look up, child," she whispered, her voice blending in with the whisk of her kimono. Hesitantly, I lifted my eyes. She was even lovelier up close. Her dark eyes burned into mine, and my cheeks grew hot with the seconds ticking away.

After studying my face for a brief moment, she spoke again. "What is your name?" She asked me in a quiet voice, letting go of my face. Her words were a little difficult to understand; she had an aristocratic Kyoto accent, which was miles away from the villager drawl we were so accustomed to.

Maki, who was beside me, jumped at the sound of her voice. Her mouth opened in a perfect circle when her eyes landed on the court lady, who was merely inches away from her. I looked behind me again. Everyone had also raised their heads from their bow when she spoke, and stared at us in a combination of awe and confusion. For once, even Hideaki-sama was speechless.

I swallowed the dry lump that had formed inside my throat. "Sa-sakura," I managed to choke out.

This was my first encounter with Lady Ichijo, the woman who changed my life forever.

-d-

The next thing I knew, I was watching Tatsumi-san pack my belongings into a sturdy wooden box. In went the various cotton yukata and linen robes we had sewn together, but to my surprise, nothing else except for a dozen bolts of our best quality silk—the only ones we had. My thick robes, which I would need during the winter, were undoubtedly getting left behind. I inquired about it.

"You're going with them now," she replied simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They will provide for you."

Later on, I would realize that the only reason why Tatsumi-san had packed my clothes was for sentimental purposes. It would be the only memory I would have of the village, and of her. As for the silk, it was to be given to the court ladies as gifts, being Akamatsu-sama's only way of expressing his gratitude to Lady Ichijo.

Unworthy as I was, she had chosen _me._ A peasant.

In essence, their trip to our village was like unexpectedly killing two birds with one stone. The original purpose of their trip was to fetch silk for the Empress's new kimono, and they had gotten it from Akamatsu-sama without spending a single ryuu. Silk was very valuable, and even more so during that period due to the shortage. But by plucking me out of the village, they had acquired enough silk to make another kimono out of the leftovers from the Empress's. We were saving those bolts for the merchant that came into our village every year to trade. Apparently, Akamatsu-sama seemed to pay that detail no mind. He was grateful for whatever we could give them in return for honoring our family.

"The gods has smiled down upon you, Sakura," Akamatsu-sama told me, his tone reflecting his serious expression. "You must be brave in your new life. Make us proud by serving our rulers well."

With the new chapter of my life, I was to have a new identity. I was to be adopted, and my name was changed into something befitting a girl training in the Kyoto gosho.

"Once you enter the palace, you are no longer Sakura, child," Lady Ichijo informed me. Tatsumi-san nodded solemnly. "You must forget that name. You are now Michiko. Your official origins and your family will be determined later."

Akamatsu-sama and Tatsumi-san bowed low once again to Lady Ichijo before she led me away by hand to the waiting palanquins. Before I stepped into the palanquin, I looked back, my eyes hungrily capturing everything in sight—against the sunset backdrop, the village's straw roofed houses, the villagers that had formed a quiet watchful circle around the palanquins, and the grazing animals on the wide patches of farmland. I would never look upon my childhood home again.

Many of the children, most of them my friends, stared at me in a combination of resignation and confusion, unable to understand why, but understanding that I was leaving them forever. Chihori was the only one that was scowling, but I paid her no mind. I was too busy noticing with a painful twinge that Tatsumi-san and Maki were both wiping tears from their faces with their sleeves.

I had wanted to leave to start my exciting new life, and yet, at the same time, I didn't. I felt as if leaving the village, the only home I had, would be destroying whatever life I had to replace it with the life of another person.

This wasn't me. The person who was climbing onto the palanquin was someone else, a girl named Michiko who was a complete stranger. Michiko was dignified. She was to be one of the poised, exquisite creatures living in the splendid palace alongside the rulers of our country. She was miles away from the peasant girl that would feed the silkworms in the morning and play in the creek with the other children in the afternoon.

That bittersweet moment sealed the beginning of my new life.

-e-

In between the two-day trip back to Kyoto, we stopped at a post town called Narai to rest for the night. In the room that we shared together at the inn, Lady Ichijo and the junior maids made small talk with me. It took me a long time to realize that they were talking to me at first because they kept calling me by my new name. I thought my new name, which meant _beautiful and wise,_ sounded lovely. But it was like an exquisitely brocaded kimono that was too big on me; a name that I would never fit into. Michiko befitted another type of girl—one who was elegant, serene, and refined. I didn't think I was either of those three.

The junior maids introduced themselves. To my surprise and relief, they seemed friendly. One was called Ineko, while the other was called Yui. Ineko had a sweet, open face, but Yui was prettier with a quiet sort of loveliness. Ineko was the one who did most of the talking, while Yui smiled at me shyly. Their names, too, I learned, were changed when they first entered the service of the Emperor, so they sympathized with the melancholy I felt with losing my identity. They both expressed wonder at my unique hair color.

"Just like cherry blossoms," Ineko sighed, taking my strands into hand. "Must we change her name, Lady Ichijo? "Sakura" fits her so well."

"Ineko, you must speak less often," Lady Ichijo merely said as if she didn't hear Ineko's question. "It's unbecoming of a lady to talk so much."

"So they tell me," Ineko replied, smiling. Lady Ichijo huffed, but it was good-naturedly. Yui giggled softly.

With close observations, I noticed that Ineko and Yui were polar opposites, but their contrast seemed to be the reason why they got along so well. Ineko was vivacious and bubbly, and seemed to be the spokesperson for the quiet and shyer Yui.

I also realized that the one the villager was whispering about to his wife—the picky "palace wench"—was Ineko all along. And picky she was.

With amusement, I watched Ineko wrinkle her nose at the soba noodles we had for dinner. I hadn't eaten anything that whole day, and my hunger made the cold noodles taste like honey. But apparently, Ineko found that hunger rarely affected _her_ taste in food.

I wanted to ask Ineko if the rumor was true—that she had sent back her food at the inn five times—but I didn't have the nerve.

I tried to talk to the apprentice maid Kiyo who was only two years older than me, but the attempts were in vain. Because they had not expected another person, there were only four palanquins, one for each of them before I came along. I was sharing a palanquin with Kiyo because she was the thinnest and smallest out of all of them. But she seemed shyer than Yui, and I never heard her talk.

Ineko explained when I made a private inquiry about it. "Kiyo became mute two years back. No one really knows why because she refuses to tell anyone."

This further fuelled my curiosity, but I didn't say a word after that.

For the rest of the trip back, I watched the changing scenery through the tiny window of the palanquin I shared with Kiyo. We sat in complete silence. Between glimpses of the scenery, I stole quick glances at her. She too, stared out her window, wearing a blank expression. I was sitting next to a stone statue dressed in a fine kimono of turquoise silk. The only emotion I have seen her reveal was of fear, which was back at the village square when the villagers were paying homage to her. I had never seen her smile, even when Ineko made a clever remark. I pitied her, silently wondering what had happened to her that made her abandon her voice.

I longed to ask her, but I knew there would be no answered reply.

Unbeknownst to me, I would soon find out that ignorance was bliss in the Kyoto Gosho. And because Kiyo hadn't feigned ignorance, she paid dearly for it.

-n-

* * *

A/N: I know I promised to update my other stories, but I lost my muse for them. Sorry :(

This idea was gathering dust in the corners of my mind for almost a year, and I thought it would be fun to switch back into a new story. Most of the historical details are accurate, while certain elements are twisted in support of the plot. If you're interested in the historical notes:

**Education:**Lady Murasaki Shikibu is the famous author of Japan's earliest literature masterpiece _The Tale of Genji, _and her interesting upbringing befits Sakura and her character in this storyline, so I decided to make Sakura's educational upbringing very similar to hers. Because her mother died when she was young, Lady Murasaki was raised by her scholar father. Contrary to the traditional way, she was given a male education of Japanese kanji and classical Chinese literature. And like Sakura in this story, Lady Murasaki was praised for her intelligence and her fast-paced ability to learn, and was told that she should have been born a male.

**The Setting:** This story does not have a specific time period since the lineage of the Imperial family is fictionalized. You can say that this story is a mixture of the Heian, Edo, and Meiji periods.

**The Imperial Court:** Has anyone watched or heard of _Dae Jang Geum? _Well, it was this Korean drama a few years back that was very successful. I was inspired by the drama immensely. The story's setting is in Japan, but the Imperial court in this story has aspects of the Korean Joseon Dynasty. For example, the kimono reflecting the rank of the lady at court was inspired by Dae Jang Geum. There are more Korean-esque details that are yet to come.

**Society:** I tried to make the contrast between the peasants and the nobles' lifestyle, clothing, etc. as realistic as possible. An_ eta_ refers to the lowest rank of society—for instance, a tanner or butcher—and Sakura starts out as one (but she won't be for long).

I'll add more historical notes when I think of more. :) Hope you enjoyed the beginning.

REVIEW! 3


	2. Polish

kyuuden otome

* * *

II: Polish

* * *

The events that had happened a month ago had passed so quickly in a whirlwind of memories—memories that seemed like fragments of a vivid dream. My mind still refused to believe that I was _here,_ being groomed to become one of the poised and elegant court ladies. I was to be part of the tales I heard as a peasant girl living in Kiso Valley. Of course, _officially,_ I wasn't a peasant anymore. I was now Michiko, daughter of Shikaku Nara, the captain of the guard to a high-ranking daimyo.

To accommodate my new identity, I was also given a wig of long black hair to wear. Lady Ichijo explained that my unusual hair color would attract unnecessary and unwanted attention to myself. I understood this; villagers thought I was a demon because of my hair, so why wouldn't the picky court society?

She gave Ineko, Yui, and Kiyo strict orders not to speak of my natural hair color to anyone.

So on the first day of my new life, Lady Ichijo led me into a private bathhouse that the Empress and her attendants used in the palace, locking the door firmly behind her. Lady Ichijo made sure that no one saw her with the new girl and the silk wrapped around her strange hair.

It was just the two of us. It was then when she took off the silk wrap covering my bright-hued hair and brought out a pail filled with rice water. I smiled as realization dawned on me, because it had been a while since I washed my hair with anything aside from the water of the Kiso Valley creeks.

My smile soon faded as she began scrubbing my head vigorously with rice water. Her fingernails raked my scalp furiously, much like a tiger would use a tree to sharpen its claws. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I held them in.

"Better safe than sorry," I heard her mutter as she combed through my hair with her fingers. Now, I could make an accurate guess about what she meant; she was talking about head lice, which common with peasants. I don't remember if I actually had lice, but she was right to take the precautions. Even if it did cause me a whole lot of pain.

When her fingers stopped, I had thought the worst was over. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But then she pulled out a small knife. My eyes grew wide.

"Lady Ichijo-" I began in an alarmed voice, but she cut me off.

"Stay still, child," Lady Ichijo said impatiently. "I am only going to cut your hair."

And like she said, she began to carefully clip my pink tresses.

I relaxed. It was ridiculous, but I had thought she was going to shed my blood for some other procedure she had to follow.

"So unusual," she murmured to herself. Because of its volume, it took several minutes to shear it all off. When I looked into the mirror again, my hair was cropped short to my head. Anything pink would be hidden behind the dark curtain of hair. I watched as every strand of hair fluttered to the ground with a slight twinge of melancholy.

The wig was then secured on my head by Lady Ichijo's firm fingers. I peeked at the mirror, and even though I had braced myself beforehand, I couldn't restrain the gasp escaping my mouth. The wig changed everything. It may seem like an exaggeration, but it was true. Perhaps a big change was what it took to see the smaller changes I had failed to notice. The ebony created a striking contrast against my fair skin, which looked paler in comparison. It also drew more attention to my green eyes, which was the only thing that remained unchanged.

It made me wonder if any of the villagers back in Kiso Valley would recognize me if they saw me from far away. I was hard to overlook with my pink hair, and anyone could recognize me from a mile away.

Ineko had said that my name suited me because of my hair. Was it only my hair that had desperately clung to my name? Had I also cut Sakura off of me along with my hair?

I stared at the floor again. There, the strands of hair were the last remainings of Sakura. The dark-haired palace girl Michiko had killed Sakura and then took her green eyes and the few existing pieces of her identity.

She had replaced her for good.

-o-

When Lady Ichijo handed me a kimono to wear in the palace, I couldn't hold back a rather puerile squeal. It was a hand-me-down, but I didn't care. Touching silk was a part of working for Akamatsu-sama, but never had I imagined _wearing_ it. Despite the small scuffs here and there, the silk had maintained its powdery soft texture, and to me, as good as new.

As Sakura, my young age might have justified my frivolous behavior, but I was Michiko now. In the Kyoto Gosho, age was irrelevant and stilled once one began training to be a kyuuden otome.

And despite myself, I felt the material with my fingers, enjoying the feeling of cool silk sliding so smoothly under my fingertips. My expression of childish glee must have been something, because Lady Ichijo was watching me with a slightly exasperated expression, as if she thought I couldn't get any more undignified. But I caught her lips curl up a little wistfully.

But then, the magic faded away as realization dawned on me. It took me a while to notice that I was given a kimono in a very light pink color, one that signified a child maid rank. You see, I had assumed that I would be given a turquoise-hued kimono like Kiyo's. I thought I would be at her rank because of the similarity in age.

But like I said, age hardly mattered, and skill had everything to do with it, which of course I didn't have. A newcomer in the palace, I would have to work twice as hard to earn myself a permanent position, and especially since I hadn't had the traditional upbringing the other girls from noble families had gotten.

I had to begin at the child maid rank and work my way up the court ladder. During the day, I learned the basics of court protocol and was given simple tasks along with the child maids. I must admit, it was a little embarrassing to be learning with girls young enough for me to babysit. They often gave me strange, inquisitive looks, probably wondering why an eleven-year old was with them. With much difficulty, I ignored the stares and stage whispers, and focused on promotion.

At night, I struggled to keep myself awake for Lady Ichijo's nightly lessons. The lessons ranged from teaching me to speak properly in a Kyoto accent to Hiragana calligraphy.

Lady Ichijo herself warned me what would happen if I didn't catch up to the other girls my age.

_("The only thing harder than getting in is staying in," _she reminded me every time I yawned. And that helpful reminder would keep me awake during those long hours.)

But nonetheless, I was grateful to Lady Ichijo, for it was she who had gotten me into the Kyoto Gosho in the first place, which was of course, a great honor. Lady Ichijo, I learned, was the chief lady-in-waiting to Empress Mikoto, which meant she held a great power over the _Dairi,_ or Inner Palace (which was dominated by the highest ranking court ladies). Only a high-ranking court lady such as Lady Ichijo could handpick her staff, and I was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time.

From time to time, I still wonder why she had chosen me back at the village. Perhaps she pitied me. Perhaps she saw potential in the little peasant girl. Or maybe, she had seen in her almanac that a certain someone would enter her life that day and change everything.

And change everything I did.

"These are the chrysanthemum strokes," Lady Ichijo began, making four precise strokes onto the rice paper with her skilled brushwork. She added another four.

One-two-three-four. The outline of a chrysanthemum began to take shape.

"This is the bamboo stroke," she said, gesturing the tip of the brush at the chrysanthemum's stem. "The petals are formed by the chrysanthemum stroke. The orchid and plum strokes create the leaves."

I nodded, absorbing as much information as I could. I had been here almost a month, but I still had much to learn.

"These four techniques are called the Four Gentlemen," Lady Ichijo concluded, setting her brush down. "The basics of sumi-e painting. With these four strokes, one can paint anything, when applied correctly."

"When will I be learning the other techniques, Lady Ichijo?" I asked, trying to mask my impatience. I was eager to move past the basics. When it came to learning, I was as greedy as a thirsty newborn.

"Patience is a virtue, especially for ladies of the Imperial court," she merely replied, ignoring my question. But she smiled.

Hope welled up inside me, and I picked up the brush with the newfound enthusiasm.

-t-

Approximately two months later, Lady Ichijo sent a messenger to my shared quarters. By then, I had—with days of hard work and studying—progressed well past the basics of hiragana and poetry. Lady Ichijo praised my fast paced learning, and as a reward, she presented me with my well-earned turquoise robes and the elevated rank that came with it.

I knew she had written a message for the purpose of making me practice my reading.

_It is Prince Yasahiro's birthday, _she wrote in her fluid, elegant handwriting. _The Emperor is holding a feast today in his honor. Michiko, you are going to have your first real task today. You are to be one of the main serving girls at the feast, serving the prince himself. Remember, this is an honor for you, especially since you have only been here for so short a while. Others wait quite a while for this sort of opportunity. Do not disappoint me. Go to the Royal Kitchens immediately. Ask Ineko for your uniform._

_Uniform?_ My brows furrowed. I knew vaguely of the duties a serving girl had, but I had no idea that a special uniform was required.

I found Ineko at the Royal Kitchens, where she was an assistant to Lady Eitsu, a high-ranking officer in the catering department.

"You have a task already, Sakura?" She was one of the few that still called me by my birth name. In the beginning, she had tried to continue calling me Michiko, but soon admitted that it felt unnatural and stiff. "It took almost a_ year _for me to get one! And you're serving _Prince Yasahiro!" _

"What is he like?" I inquired, noting the hushed reverence in her voice as she spoke the prince's name.

Her eyes glazed over dreamily. "Yasahiro-no-miya is-" She paused. Her eyes gained focus and widened in surprise. "Wait, are you saying that you haven't heard about him from the other girls?"

I shook my head. "No. I've been busy with my lessons." It was true. I had no time to socialize with anyone.

Ineko burst out laughing. She only stopped when Lady Eitsu, who was nearby, shot her a silencing glare. I had a feeling Ineko got those looks very often.

"The girl who is lucky enough to be so near Prince Yasahiro-" She snickered into her palm. "-doesn't even know how lucky she is!"

"Ineko-san..." I didn't understand the joke.

"Alright, I'll tell you a few things about Prince Yasahiro," Ineko began. "Just a few, because we don't have much time. And besides, you'll see what I mean when I say this: he is..._perfect."_

"How so?" My curiosity was triggered.

"He is very handsome," Ineko blushed. "Or at least, that's what all the girls who've seen him told me. I only saw him from far away..."

"How old is the prince?"

"He's turning fourteen today."

"Why, he's younger than you, Ineko-san," I exclaimed. Ineko was fifteen. "And not even a _man."_

"Prince Yasahiro is wise beyond his years," Ineko giggled. "And he looks much older as well. He's almost as tall as his father the emperor."

"But that's insulting to His Majesty." I protested. You see, it's considered rude to be taller than the emperor.

Ineko shrugged. "I suppose when you're His Majesty's son, it doesn't really matter. Anyway, he's next in line for the throne. Which means many girls in the inner palace would kill to become his consort. I included," she tittered as she waved a hand around her reddening face. "I hear they already have a wife picked out for him. But he can choose one of us to be his concubine."

"_Would_ he choose one of us?" I asked skeptically.

Ineko sighed heavily. "I don't know. He hardly takes notice of any of us. All he ever does is studying or reading books," she added with a snort. "I don't think he's interested in any women right now."

"But when he is..." She gave me a coy smile. _"I'll_ be ready."

"Ineko-san..." I was growing worried; from the window, the sky was darkening, and surely, the feast would commence very soon...

"What? You don't believe me? Well, I'll have you know that-"

"Ineko-san!" I interjected, my voice almost rising an octave. "My uniform!"

Ineko blinked, and the dreamy gaze disintegrated from her large brown eyes. "Oh, heavens! I had almost forgotten..."

She led me into a small room at the back of the kitchen. The room contained nothing but a set of drawers and a lonely hole in the rice paper screen.

Ineko made a beeline to the drawers, and began shuffling through its contents with her small pale fingers. A simple ivory-hued kimono with the Imperial family crest emblazoned on the back was handed to me.

"Why do we _need_ uniforms?" I inquired as Ineko untied my obi with quick fingers. She slid my turquoise kimono off of my tiny frame and helped me into the white one.

"They want everyone looking the same," Ineko replied with a roll of her eyes. "To be frank, I find it ridiculous." She paused, carefully wrapping my obi around my waist twice. "They don't want the colors of our kimono to outshine any of the noblewomen's."

I laughed. "Our kimono can't compare to theirs!"

Ineko snorted too. "It's a wonder how they come up with such nonsense." Her skilled fingers then snapped the ends into a neat, precise boxed knot.

I turned to leave, assuming that the dressing was done, but Ineko stopped me.

"Just one more thing...here you are," Ineko said as pulled out a white cotton mask from the bottom drawer. I accepted the mask, but I was puzzled. I wasn't surprised to see the robe and apron, but I hadn't expected the last one.

"A mask?"

"Just in case the prince might get sick from your icky peasant germs," Ineko replied with a teasing edge to her voice. "Try it on."

I managed to flash her a scowl in return for her playful insult before my mouth disappeared behind the mask. I fastened it into place.

"_There_ we go. All we see are your beautiful eyes," Ineko remarked cheerfully. "No more of your hideous face-pulling. Really, Sakura, you must stop doing that. You don't want early wrinkles, do you?"

To amuse her, I made an exaggerated replica of my scowl, complete with the deep-set crinkles of angry eyes.

"You're still frowning!" Ineko sang.

-o-

As the seconds ticked by, the activity in the kitchens were becoming more and more frantic. Lady Eitsu, along with the rest of the catering officers, oversaw the whole preparation and made the last finishing touches to the appetizers. While sprinkling the last seasonings, they yelled at their slower-paced protégées without missing a beat. The way their fast hands and demanding mouths moved in time to their phenomenal multi-tasking greatly impressed me.

"You, over there!" Lady Eitsu called tartly, beckoning me over. Ineko was dutifully at her side, two platters of food in her hand. She looked slightly frazzled from submitting to every one of Lady Eitsu's commands, but she managed a tight smile for me.

I shuffled over to them as fast as I could in the zori I borrowed from Ineko, whose feet were slightly bigger than mine. But she was the only one who had shoes to spare, and I didn't know the other junior maids well enough to borrow from them.

"You're taking these to the Prince," Ineko said briskly, transporting the platters carefully into my hands. "Fuyuko's serving the Empress. Just watch how she does it. It's not hard."

I recognized the name immediately. I stiffened.

My eyes moved towards the slender girl standing near the door. Before she slipped on her mask, I noted her cool, neutral expression with envy. She was serving the _Empress. _How was she so calm and collected?

Fuyuko. My heart sank.

You see, many had come to know my true origins, and some didn't dismiss that sticky fact so easily.

As soon as I stepped foot into the Kyoto Gosho, those people made sure that I would know my place at court—an unrefined peasant girl who just got lucky.

And one of them was Fuyuko.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My tongue lolled clumsily.

"You'll be fine," Ineko squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. She then lifted the cotton mask from my neck and fastened it into place.

I nodded, grateful that I didn't have to speak. I hoped that no one noticed my shoulders shaking. Anyone would have found me pathetic for being so nervous doing an easy task.

But naturally, Fuyuko noticed.

"Oh hello, _Michiko," _she greeted me with her usual air of scorn. Her mask was on, but I could practically hear her mouth wriggling into a sly smile. "Is this your first time?"

The comely-looking daughter of a daimyo in Edo, Fuyuko moved and talked with an easy grace that came from her upper class upbringing. She was the acknowledged star of the inner palace. She was by far one of the best in halberd training, wrote the loveliest _waka_ poems, and played the _koto _beautifully. She was my age, but she managed to elevate to the ranking of junior maid in half the time it took Ineko to get to. There were whispers that she was to be promoted again, despite the fact that she was only a junior maid for a year. Girls worshipped the ground she stood on but were intimidated by her beauty and talents.

_("In no time, an aristocrat is bound to take notice of her," many predicted.)_

And rightly so. One could tell that she would just become more and more devastatingly lovely. Her midnight-black hair was enviably long and shiny. Her complexion had the aristocratic pallor, creamy and blemish-free. Her face, with her upturned nose and smirking lips, was symmetrically composed in a haughtily exquisite sort of way. And her eyes—they were the crowning glory.

_(So unusual. So bewitching. So stunning.)_

Like her name, her eyes were the color of winter. The bluish hue of ice when it had frosted over. Beautiful, but possessing a cold, alienating sort of beauty. That is to say, cold to those who she felt was undeserving to stand in her presence.

Undoubtedly, I was a prime example of the unworthy. When Ineko went around introducing me to the other girls, she had also gone to Fuyuko, with whom she was sharing a room.

And what was her response? She looked down on me with her upturned nose in the air, and sniffed, "So you're the new girl? I see that you're wearing my old dress."

I had looked down at my pink kimono and frowned. How did she know-?

"How could you possibly know, Fuyuko?" Ineko then laughed. Because she was older than Fuyuko, she had no reason to be scared of her.

"I stitched this Uchiha emblem on the sleeve," Fuyuko boasted, grabbing my arm sharply to show her. I had noticed it when I first received the dress, and I always wondered why mine was the only kimono with the embellishment. "For practice, of course. When I showed Lady Eitsu, she said it was the best embroidery she's ever seen done by a seven-year old."

Ineko then rolled her eyes at me discreetly. Apparently, she was often subjected to Fuyuko's prideful nature.

"Take care of it," Fuyuko had sneered before walking away. "I don't expect a lot from peasants, but perhaps you could prove me wrong."

I had just stared after her, speechless. What had I done to her to make her disdain me so?

"Don't worry about it," Ineko had said as if she had read my thoughts. "She'll warm up to you in time. Fuyuko isn't really all that bad..."

At that moment however, as Fuyuko's blue eyes peered down at me disdainfully, Ineko's assuage sounded less and less likely to happen.

"Yes," I answered her in my muffled voice, trying to sound more confident. "It is my first time."

Fuyuko feigned concern. "You must be nervous!"

"Is it your first time too, Fuyuko-san?" I asked politely, ignoring her fake sweetness.

She laughed. "Of course not. That was _three years ago. _Of course, then, I wasn't serving the _Empress." _

And I knew right then that she was going to launch into one of her pompous rants. Fortunately, Lady Eitsu interrupted by clapping her hands to get our attentions.

"In single file!" She shouted. "We're due to begin. And for Kami-sama's sake, put your masks back on! Are you or are you not kyuuden otome?"

Deeply unimpressed, Lady Eitsu watched the other girls scrambled to do her bidding. She then sighed exasperatedly, as if they were all hopeless cases. "Why couldn't you all be like Fuyuko?" She complained, but flashed her star pupil the most endearing smile I had ever seen made by the hard-to-please Lady Eitsu.

I didn't say a word. And naturally, neither did Fuyuko, who didn't want to share the spotlight.

Fuyuko's eyes glowed smugly, and I knew her smirk had just gotten wider. But she modestly shrugged, and bowed low to Lady Eitsu, something that the idealistically perfect lady-to-be would have done.

Lady Eitsu had only noticed Fuyuko with her mask on. She had completely overlooked me. My star wasn't shining as bright as Fuyuko's, and was positioned very low in the sky. I wasn't as pretty. I wasn't as talented.

_(-Next to her, I was-)_

Nothing.

-m-

The doors opened to reveal a midnight-blue sky painted in slivers of pale gold and warm pinks. The cool July breeze swept comfortingly past me, cooling the beads of nervous perspiration that had formed on my forehead. A rock-lined path led to a pavilion surrounded by a lake that connected to the Katsura River. Flags bearing the Imperial family crest were proudly raised, rippling in the breeze.

Many of the nobles and noblewomen in their summer finery of blues, greens, and yellows invited to the party were already in position, kneeling on the brocade cushions along the sides. From the growing knowledge I had gained from learning, I knew that the tiny, four-legged tables placed front of them meant that the feast was in the traditional _gishiki ryori _style_._

My feet wobbled precariously inside the zori. Just imagining Fuyuko gleefully snickering as I fell down in front of the entire aristocracy was enough for me to concentrate more on my steps. I took a deep breath, and forged on.

_("Toes turned in, dainty steps," I heard Lady Ichijo coaching inside my head.)_

I was third in the procession. The head of the line, who was a recently promoted court lady named Azami, was given the honor of serving the Emperor. We made a beeline towards the grandiose cypress wood pavilion, in which the royal family and their honored guests were dining.

When we reached the landing of the pavilion steps, Azami marched up the stairs, and Fuyuko followed gracefully. The stairs were leering at me, anticipating my eventual stumble upon them. I bit my lip, clutching the platter in my hands tightly.

_I could do this. I could do this. _I chanted to myself as I started up the steps. My toes held onto the zori for dear life. One...two...three...

There must have been only seven steps, but it seemed to take an eternity to reach the top. Luckily, I made it through the stairs without a single stagger. I smiled, gaining more confidence.

When I reached the pavilion, Azami had already served the Emperor. She swept past me as she made her way down the stairs.

It was Fuyuko's turn. Her back straight, she moved in confident strides towards the Empress, who was seated next to the Emperor. I watched her carefully, making sure I would not miss a single detail. With her head submissively down, she gently placed the platter on the Empress's cherrywood table and bowed low to her.

I discreetly peeked at the Empress. My mouth almost dropped open. I was awestruck by her beauty. She looked just like the Empress doll on the ningyo stand in the main hall. In her thirties, she was still at the prime of her beauty; her well-proportioned face was flawlessly pale, her lips were ruby-red, and her elaborately looped hair was gleaming under the light of the setting sun. I found the Empress's eyes much prettier than Fuyuko's; Fuyuko's eyes _were_ exquisitely lovely, but they lacked the warmth and kindness the Empress's serene dark eyes had.

And her kimono! I had thought Lady Ichijo's grass design kimono was lovely, but the Empress's seasonal summer costume took my breath away.

Below the hip, a waterfall in misty periwinkle cascaded from grey threads knotting into a rocky cliff and tumbled straight into azure water. Silver dots sprayed out onto the backdrop in a light blue silk and the current was ringed with ivory wherever the waterfall splashed into the water. Koi fish in a soft peach scaled with gold were glistening below the surface and dotted the hemline. Her obi was made with a heavier silk with a gauzy texture in lavender and interwoven with threads in a lovely cornsilk color. By far, hers eclipsed the other noblewomen's kimono.

Her husband the Emperor was also wearing a lavish robe, in seasonal light green with a magnificent gold-scaled dragon climbing up to the stomach with its ivory claws. His finely chiseled face gave off an austere, stern air. But he looked just like an Emperor should—strong, majestic, and powerful.

And despite myself, my eyes also wandered to the person seated next to the Emperor—the prince. The famous Yasahiro-no-miya.

Ineko hadn't been lying.

He was beautiful—and excessively so, as if he were created by Kami-sama to trample the poor hearts of every girl who ever laid eyes on him.

Even as an eleven-year old child I had realized this. He was dangerously good-looking. But when I became older...

I completely ignored it. The forbidden emotions—the ones we were all taught to banish—reared their fiery, foolishly passionate heads because of this very man.

I confess myself-

-disappointed. In myself. For allowing myself to fall for this man.

I was supposed to be wiser and more cautious...and yet, at the ripe age of twenty-two, I ended up making the mistakes I would have made if I was an eleven-year old.

_(-Didn't age mean anything?-)_

-e-

A little shorter than last time, but I'll try and make it longer next time :)

I totally forgot to mention last time that "kyuuden otome" roughly translates into "palace maiden." (You guys can put away those dictionaries now :p)

Brownie points to anyone who caught the little hints linking to actual Naruto characters (other than the obvious Uchiha family).

Just in case anyone's wondering about the chapter title, it refers to how Sakura is refining herself through training. Therefore, "polishing" herself to become a kyuuden otome.

A huge thank you to everyone who favorited, read, and reviewed the last chapter. I wasn't sure that this story idea was good enough for me to continue, but because of your support, I will :)

And here's a response to **chata: **Thanks for pointing that out, because I forgot to clarify in the first chapter (again) that this story is narrated by an older Sakura, contemplating her past. If it weren't, yes, it would be creepily mature for an eleven-year old. Even _I'm_ not that mature :p

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this update. Leave your comments, questions, and concerns into your lovely reviews that just make my day :)

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MORE HISTORICAL NOTES:

**Dairi: **The Inner Palace is consisted of the Emperor and Empress's quarters and the pavilions of the imperial consorts and ladies-in-waiting, like Lady Ichijo, who is the lady-in-waiting to the Empress.

**Kyoto Gosho:** The older Heian palace (called the Daidairi) was repeatedly destroyed by fires, so reconstruction was abandoned in 1227, and a new one was built. The Katsura Imperial villa was built in its place, and was called the "Palace of Heaven". However, it too, suffered fires and were rebuilt, and the Heian-style version currently standing was completed in 1855. Since 1869, the Kyoto Gosho had lost most of its function, as the Emperor resided in the Tokyo Imperial Palace during the Meiji period.

**Court Ladies: **The few hundred and perhaps a thousand court ladies in the Kyoto Gosho are all given various tasks in the Palace, which all boiled to one thing: the well-being and satisfaction of the Imperial family. Some would be assigned to catering, some would be assigned as attendants to the royals, and others would run errands. It was all about climbing the social ladder of the Imperial court. Many strived to catch a noble's eye and become a concubine, which would elevate their position at court. Some of the lucky ones who came from the right families became concubines to even members of the Imperial family.

**Dining: **_Honzen ryori_ is a highly ritualized form of serving food, in which seasonally prescribed types of food are carefully and beautifully arranged and served on legged trays. Its roots are in _gishiki ryori,_ which is the ceremonial type of cooking seen in this chapter, used by nobility in the past.


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